The Other City (Czech Literature Series) by Michal Ajvaz

The Other City (Czech Literature Series) Reviews

• 
  Glenn Russell

  
  
  
  Hail Czech author Michal Ajvaz!
  
  I’ve entered The Other City, a novel serving as travel guide to a veiled Prague flourishing in the spaces above, below and in between the city's outer crust of stone, brick, wood, metal and the hum of humdrum routine.
  
  Among the many mysterious, magical injections into everyday Prague, I beheld a large black fish sticking its head out of a tsunami’s wall of water to mock a library researcher, a green marble streetcar whose depot is in the courtyard of a monastery in Tibet, giant buzzing wasps, monsters lurking behind mirrors.
  
  Full disclosure: not only have I entered The Other City, I have completely merged with the narrator. Thus I'll speak in the first person about one particular fascinating object: a purple book I discovered at an antiquarian bookseller's in Karlova Street.
  
  What a book - a book with an unusually soft and smooth spine printed in an otherworldly alphabet, the letters rounded but with sharp points at the edges as if closed or enclosing shapes, convulsed and bristling, frequently appearing violently pierced by pointed wedges that penetrated their inner space from outside and elsewhere the bloated letters seemed to be bursting under the pressure of some expanding internal force. Then, falling asleep in bed that evening, rows of those rounded and spiny letters flashed in front of my eyes, squirming and writhing as they were transformed into snowflakes. Eerie, eerie - I could sense the book was silently and unobtrusively taking root in an intimately familiar space and soaking up its juices.
  
  The next day when visiting the university library, I shared my find with a reference librarian. Unbelievably, he told me of his encounter with the very same script - only his book had rubies set into the spine of a leather binding that lit up the surrounding gloom - at the very moment he opened the clasp, a bright green light suddenly shone among the trees on the dark hillside outside his window. And at that very same moment the letters began to make a weird transformation as they lit up and then expired like glowing coals blown with a regular rhythm. Although he discouraged me from any future investigation, I didn't lose the yearning to discover the world from which the book with the unknown script had come.
  
  I carried the purple book with me all the time. Eventually, I could recognize the individual letters, although I did not know the sounds they represented. I counted a total of seventy-six signs, a virgin forest full of disquieting seeds. I could sense tension in the shapes of the letters that suggested they grew out of anxiety. And there were those striking accent marks over the letters, inconspicuous little pothooks and loops that perhaps conveyed the main burden of the text, thus rendering the big letters as simply ornamentation. Or maybe those signs were remnants of an ancient heraldic language waiting for old gods to return. Who knows, maybe some victory lurks in the letters. But then again, perhaps there’s a darker, more sinister meaning: the letters are an evil gangrene that will gradually overwhelm everything.
  
  I've said enough. I hope you are intrigued and will pick up a copy of Michal Ajvaz’s novel to take your own journey to the other Prague.
  
  
  Czech author Michal Ajvaz, born 1949
• 
  Eddie Watkins

  I always try to give authors the benefit of the doubt, as long as there appears to be a “serious” intention behind their work, and signs of an authentic imagination at work. If I read something and don’t initially like it, I’ll reevaluate my own approach and expectations, and will read up on the author a bit to get a sense of his/her intention and mindscape, and then I will begin the book again with an expanded version of my typically open mind. If it still doesn’t work for me, which is very rare, I will declare our spirits antithetical and will engage in spiritual warfare with this individual until the end of time.
  
  Attempting to read The Other City ruined literature for me, revealing it for the fraud it is, and has always been. Who are these people who, with brains no different than yours or mine, and with visions as pedestrian as the average pedestrian, have the smug audacity to fill page after page with their sterile imaginings expecting us to devour it so as to provide a brief escape from our worlds which are as mundane as theirs? It showed me that all authors are impotent wizards with no more than a knack for words and their hypnotic arrangement. It negated, with a wave of a dime store wand, all the magic and nourishing escape I had ever felt while lost in the worlds of countless books. All previous enchantments were stubbed out like a joint as parents enter the driveway; a festive scene rubbed out by a gummy eraser.
  
  In this new space of death-in-life, where even trees and children were no more than props for the use (and abuse) of a virile ‘imagination’, word worms asexually reproducing in a hydroponic space station, I wandered lost and bereft, weeping into the melancholy mustache I had taped to my upper lip for the occasion, and tripping over too-small flip-flops I had donned like a hair shirt to torture myself for ever opening The Other City. Before abandoning it (after 7 chapters) I had in fact found myself in another city in another world emptied of all significance that could possibly be bestowed on it by literature – a city where every moment was so o’er brimming with a cloying and contrived ‘magic’ that all true magic was negated; stubbed out like a teenage erection by a teenage Christian; rubbed out by Goo Gone. It was a city where everyone wandered disconsolately, weeping into their fake mustaches and tripping over self-flagellating flip-flops, while techni-colored fountains splashed and flowed into Willy Wonka rivers where no fish could live; a city dead but for the endless tickertape (like word worms) crowding the sky with arabesques of pointless invention.
  
  My exile in this city of anti-magic lasted eight eternal hours, but then with a simple extraction from my ever-reliable bookshelves I was transported back to my preferred city: a city where every sentence does not have to outdo the previous sentence with audacious invention, and if it does then that audacious invention is audaciously authentic, tinged with a mystery not strangled by the synthetic vines of facile verbal invention; a city where things can remain unsaid; a city where magic is an undercurrent and not a tsunami; a city where Michal Ajvaz is now barred from entering; trapped in customs by a visa hell of my own devising until I can find some way to wrap my mind around the reason why the usually reliable Dalkey Archive published, with fanfare!, this o’er spilling cornucopia of candied fruit, this empty labyrinth of nested boxes, each more elaborate than the previous, and each more empty (yes, there are infinite degrees of emptiness) of significance.
  
  But I, being who I am, will wait a spell and give Michal Ajvaz another shot, and will patiently await an evaluation of The Other City by someone whose taste I trust. He did after all write a book length study of Borges, and he is from Prague, a city still potent in my imagination. If only this lingering nausea would abate…
  
• 
  L.S. Popovich

  A harmless and creative work, quirky and European in flavor, but lacking the depth of the shameless blurbs hailing Ajvaz as the Czech Kafka. Wait, never mind. This is a dream book, a better than average Surrealist romp. Relatively flat, but well-animated, colorful, goofy, surprising, and atmospheric. Superimposition plays a big part, and the inversion of scale. The interpolation of a microcosm occasionally comes into play. Lustrous and splendid and eldritch, the prose is reminiscent of Ducornet or Angela Carter, without the burden of being about anything. The author performs with abundance and imagination, yet with a directionless approach, such that an inept travelogue comes to predominate the set-pieces. Still, providing about as much entertainment as Calvino's Invisible Cities with more phosphorescent dream-carnival vibes. A fluctuating, fructose, allegorical, chimerical digression of a book. An unpruned indulgence and an overripe fruit upon Dalkey's bounteous boughs.
• 
  Lori

  The Other City begins with a book. One snowy afternoon in a used bookstore, the narrator comes across a purple-bound volume written in an unknown language, accompanied by several strange illustrations. He takes it to a scholar, who is immediately unnerved and recommends that he put the book back and forget the whole thing. Instead, our hero's curiosity is intensified, and he quickly finds himself wandering deep down the proverbial rabbit hole. The result is a very Surrealist preoccupation with chance and spontaneity. Although the narrator does have a fixed goal in mind - to learn more about this other dimension and eventually reach its core - the unfolding of his knowledge occurs not through rational, deliberate clue-seeking but via unexpected encounters with fantastical beings and bizarre situations, such as the time he wrestles with a shark behind a cafe and ends up impaling it on a cross held by a statue on the St. Nicholas parapet.
  
  The speech of the otherworld denizens is appropriately meandering, full of long-winded nonsensical tangents and built on wild metaphors and unexpected juxtapositions. The dialogue isn't simply randomness, however, or weirdness for the sake of weirdness. Ajvaz, through his haunting and beautifully jumbled prose, articulates the inarticulate. The result is deeply instinctive. That's the one word I can use to describe it. Everything makes sense even when it shouldn't, and even when you can't explain it in concrete terms you know the meaning is there in the back of your mind. The language and spaces of the Other City are the dark areas under furniture and in the backs of drawers and camouflaged within the patterns of wallpaper. In a world that constantly seeks answers, to discover the Other City is to come close to the primeval source of being, where the mind expands and the nooks and cracks are filled in and objects take on new forms. "Why are you poking your nose in our affairs?" an indignant citizen demands of the narrator. "Just remember: whoever crosses the border becomes entangled in the bent wires that stick out of things that you consider broken and which, in fact, have returned to their original form, as it was etched in the surface of a glass star wandering among the constellations." It is dangerous and dizzying, this search for the central plaza where a young god's body was torn to pieces by a tiger and meaning will be made real.
  
  Or is the plaza truly the end of the journey? Are there cities upon cities upon cities, all layered on top of one another, and going not deeper and deeper towards the source but laterally extending into infinity? Ajvaz asks us to consider these questions, and many others. The Other City is both entertaining and thought-provoking, and I strongly recommend it.
  
  
  Original Review
• 
  Nora Barnacle

  Ma koliko mi blurb uzbudljivo zvučalo, gotovo sam sigurna da Ajvaz ne može da se opere od nebuloza koje je prosuo već u drugom poglavlju, a i spremna sam da umrem bez saznanja šta bi se desilo kad bi neko Lea Peruca polio povraćkom Remona Rusela.
• 
  Greg

  Doubting my own integrity at liking Borges I started reading this book, which has big blind B's name right on the back. This is Borgesian or Borgesesque, or would it be Borgesish, I don't know, but this book is supposed to populate the same urban terrain as the Blind Bibliophile Bad Boy of Bookish Brilliance (or Bore, depending on your outlook). I don't know why I'm getting alliterative, it's dumb. Anyway, this is like Borges and maybe a little too much like Borges but without the philosophy stuff that makes Borges so good. Maybe I would have liked this better if the main philosophical or thematic point to the book hadn't been also present in a teen book I read the day before this. It doesn't feel too deep when Percy Jackson and his Olympian buddies, who are really only a knock off of Harry Potter and his magical cohorts, kind of said the same thing. I wish that I could say that the same experience happened when I had read Being and Time, that some kids book nailed what Heideggar was trying to say without really trying, but I wasn't reading kids' books then, so I don't know maybe there is a nice compact adventure story out there that nails the whole problem with Zeit and Da-Sein, maybe it will be in the book about the moon going down and it being bedtime that I have to read in my class I start tomorrow. I can only hope.
  
  This book is kind of nice, and fun at times, and if I knew the city of Prague I'd probably find it much more enjoyable. It made me think and gave me a few creative flashes of brilliance that I will never capitalize on, but all and all it kind of shows why Borges never wrote a novel.
• 
  Adam

  Michal Ajvaz’s The Other City reminds me of Borges and Kafka of course, more distinctly though of Carter, Shulz, Kubin, and Lovecraft, but especially of Shulz and even of modern fantasists such as Mieville and Vandermeer. The book is a maze of shifting realities, beautiful and ominous images, and parodies of epic poetry, that is a fully enthralling and at times exhausting journey that skews from metaphysical slapstick comedy to psychedelic surrealism without much downtime. You don’t travel here for character development or any such furniture of fiction, this is not realism, and this is a book that forms its own reality.
• 
  Kačaba

  První Ajvaz!
  
  Brutální imaginativní nonsens zabalený do tak krásných vět! Nečetlo se mi to nejlépe, obzvlášť zpočátku jsem silně tápala, ale jak jsem jednou chytla tu surrealistickou slinu, už jsem se vezla na vlně. Fakt super.
• 
  Milda

  Keista knyga. Toj kitoj paralelinėj Prahoj viskas padrika. Suprantu, kad tai fantastika, bet vis tiek jokio ryšio čia nėra. Random mintys, random sakiniai. Nesuprantu aš tokio jovalo.
• 
  Sorrow (Hanka the bookworm)

  Při čtení knihy mi okamžitě naskočila paralela s Nikdykde. Druhé město Michala Ajvaze nicméně funguje na trochu jiných principech než gaimanovský Podlondýn. Je mnohem více abstraktní, nemá pevně fungující strukturu ani pravidla, fantasknost a autorova imaginace zachází ještě dál. Metafory a malebné popisy se vrství jeden na druhý až čtenář dojde k pocitu, jestli příběh samotný ještě vůbec drží pohromadě a někam směřuje, nebo jestli už se jen nebrodí autorovou bezbřehou fascinací vlastními myšlenkami a výjevy. V podcastu Do slov jsem slyšela trefné přirovnání ke Carrollově Alence v říši divů, do té doby mě nenapadlo, ale je více než na místě, u obou autorů totiž máte s prominutím nutkání položit si otázku, jestli si náhodou před psaním něco „nešlehli“ a je jen na vás, jestli na jejich hru přistoupíte či nikoliv. Zajímavé je, že v případě Alenky jsem se chytla a považuji ji za jednu z nejdivnějších, ale zároveň nejgeniálnějších pohádek, kdežto Druhé město mě v tomto ohledu nechalo zcela chladnou. Jistě si z něj odnesu pár výjevů, které mi prostě zůstaly v hlavě, celkově na mě ale způsob vystavení příběhu působil docela násilně, příliš vykonstruovaně, a naopak nedostatečně vypointovaně. Kniha poprvé vyšla už v roce 1993, nyní byla vytvořena audiokniha namluvená Michalem Čevorou, který se k ní jako interpret rozhodně hodí. Druhé město je dle mého kniha ambivalentní, pokud máte rádi urbanfantasy a chcete si přečíst něco nekonvenčního, pak by vás zaujmout určitě mohlo, pokud jste spíše na realistické příběhy a máte rádi pevnější strukturu děje (jako já), ruce dál.
• 
  Nerijus Cibulskas

  Prahos gyventojai žino: šiame žavingame mieste lengva pasiklysti. Jie taip pat patartų, kad retsykiais netgi naudinga nepaisyti vidinių kompasų ir į tikslą žingsniuoti gudraujant, atsitiktiniais gatvių ir gatvelių labirintais. Kaip žinoma, Prahos vaikštinėtojo figūra literatūroje turi gana senas tradicijas. Ji pasirodo jau XVII a. čekų pedagogo Jano Amoso Komenskio alegorijoje „Pasaulio labirintas“, probėgšmais šmėžuoja ir XX a. poezijos atstovų – Guillaume’o Apollinaire’o, Vítezslavo Nezvalio ir Vladimíro Holano kūryboje. Šie menininkai apgyvendino Čekijos sostinės tamsumas golemais, raganomis ir kitais paklaikusios vaizduotės sukurtais sutvėrimais. O čekų prozos Marku Polu vadinamas Michalas Ajvazas savo 1993 m. išleistame romane „Kitas miestas“ sukūrė visiškai naują gimtojo miesto mitinę geografiją ir, galima sakyti, pastatė alternatyvią Prahą.
  
  
  https://370.diena.lt/2021/03/31/skait...
• 
  Crito

  What do you think... Do you think an instapoet girl who says reading is like literally stepping into another world, and a redditor guy who thinks surrealism is when you fistfight a shark on top of a church.. do you think they could ever have something together?
• 
  Ezgi

  Yazarın en bilinen kitabı olmasına rağmen Türkiye’de pek bilinmiyor galiba, hakkında tek bir yorum yok. Kaçırılmaması gereken bir roman. Anlatıcının Prag’da yaptığı gezinin şehirden öteye uzanmasıyla alakalı bir roman. Sahafta bulduğu bir kitap ile tıpkı tavşan deliğinden geçen Alice gibi, anlatıcımız da gizemli bir şehri gezmeye başlar. Garip yaratıkların olduğu, zamanın durduğu farklı bir dünyadır burası. Prag ile birlikte keşfedilen şehrin sınırları belirsiz. Anlatı fantastikle gerçeklik arasında gidip geliyor. Algılarımızın sabit olmadığı gibi bir noktadan başlayarak birçok felsefi soruyu da gündeme getiriyor. Kitapla başka evreni keşfetme fikri çok güzel olduğu gibi bunu Prag gezintisiyle süslemesi daha da güzel yapıyor. Betimlemeleri sembolik anlatımını daha da güçlendirmiş. Çeviriden okumuş olsam da diline hayran kaldım. Sürreal romanlarda daha önce rastlamadığım bir ahenk var. Ama yalnızca edebiliğe yatırım yapmıyor Ajvaz, pek çok yerde yarattığı durumları çok komik buldum. Son olarak neden Kafka’ya benzetildiğini pek anlayamadım. Tek benzerlik kendi gerçekliklerini oluşturmuş olmaları. Kafka bunu olayların absürtlüğüne dikkat çekmek yapıyor. Ajvaz daha çok değişen gerçeklerden bir labirent inşa ediyor.
• 
  Monica Carter

  
  
  Michael Ajvaz is a literary magician creating worlds of worlds, worlds of words, worlds of objects. He is the fantastical baby of Borges and Timothy Leary. He is a cartographer on mescaline. He is Czech.
  
  His novel, The Other City, gives us a model novel of magical realism. The anonymous narrator finds a purple spined book on a shelf at a local bookshop written in an unknown language. And there begins his foray into understanding what he does not know, a language from a foreign place and a reality that is unfamiliar to him. As he searches for clues to the symbols on the pages of this book, he begins to discover that another world exists in the places we ignore - shadows become entries, crannies become rivers, solid objects become hollow and filled with life - all for him to explore. But don't think that this is an innocent exploration of an alternate reality. There is a malicious element to the other city that lurks beyond his peripheral. A waitress from a cafe he visits in real life evolves into a mildly sadistic version of a gatekeeper to this netherworld, unwelcoming to his interest and intrusion into her city beyond the walls. One thing transitions into another and the meaning it has in the real world takes on a different meaning in the world he seeks to become part of. Fish talk, bedsheets unfold in white roads, pictures go one for miles and it all seems as if we are, as a reader, just about to uncover some perverse message. Or will unearth the question we should ask ourselves that will send us on a path to the ultimate understanding of our existence.
  
  What do objects mean? This is all one can ask yourself as you turn from page to page, wondering about Ajvaz's imaginative testament to the study of semiotics.
  
  What is the concept of home? Does psychogeography apply only to what we know or is there some version of it that lies in wait beyond the borders of our own consciousness? Throughout the novel, as we attempt to understand his magical meanderings, we begin to wonder what we think we understand about our surroundings.
  
  It is not at all a question of the center being remote and mediated in too complicated a fashion, nor of the original law being irreparably distorted by countless translations of translations like a a game of Chinese whispers, nor yet of the god's face being hidden behind thousands of masks. The curious secret is that there exists no final center, that no face is hidden behind the masks, there is no original word in the game of whispers, no original of the translations. All there is is a constantly turning string of transformations, giving rise to further transformations. There is no city of autochthons. There is an endless chain of cities, a circle without a beginning or end over which there breaks unrelentingly a shifting wave of laws.
  
  And we follow along with him just as he follows in search of the origins of the book in the dark, mysterious places that promise to open him up to what he doesn't know. Then we begin to wonder if either of the realities are real or if there are the fictions of the fiction. The words are not what we think they are telling us. There is a concentricity to this novel that we are never certain if it is leading us in or out. The writing itself is fluid, concrete and vivid as sometimes dreams are, and just as irrational. As irrational as dreams are, we know that it stems from our own subconscious and Ajvaz plays on this flawlessly:
  
  Can there really exist a world in such close proximity to our own, one that seethes with such strange life, one that was possibly here before our own city and yet we know absolutely nothing about it? The more I pondered on it, the more I was inclined to think that it was indeed quite possible, that it corresponded to our lifestyle, to the way we lived in circumscribed spaces that we are afraid to leave. We are troubled by the dark music heard from over the border, which undermines our order. We fear what looms in the twilit corner; we don't know whether they are broken or disintegrating shapes of our world, or embryos of a new fauna, which will one day transform the city into its hunting ground--the vanguard of an army of monsters slowly lurking its way through our apartments. That is why we prefer not to see the shapes that came into existence on the other sde and we don't hear sounds emitted at night beyond the walls.
  
  Ajvaz takes us there, beyond the walls in beautiful and eerie way - through the magic of words.
  
• 
  J.M. Hushour

  "I know who you are; I was watching television when they showed a live transmission of your duel with the shark--I was rooting for you all the way. I really envy you; it must have been beautiful to fight with a shark above the town at night."
  
  I review to recommend. I feel strongly that my opinion is of no greater worth than anyone else's: I think the intention of the review is the important thing. It's an opportunity to share and let others know about things they might not otherwise have had time or chance to learn about on their own. The current glut of fiction means that cookie-cutter, assembly-line fictions are de rigueur, dictated by the market--whatever that is!--while worthy works get overlooked.
  Reviewing is a war against that.
  It's all I have to say, really, in the way of this fantastic novel by Ajvaz, a Czech author of whom I have never heard, who has been published by a good publisher for the obscure (Dalkey Archive) and who is an astonishing prosoet, prose-poet.
  A man discovers a purple book in a bizarre language and becomes obsessed with learning about the world alongside ours, peopled by strange cults of tiger-bitten heroes, tiny elks that live comfortably in statues and haunting ski-lifts.
  
  It is best just to quote it again:
  
  The teacher gasped, "I introduced cruel polytheism into the city transportation system even though the CEO of the transportation company was initially unsympathetic to the idea and tried to flee me. We chased each other, waving our arms like enormous dragonflies across the surface of lakes from which the song of undines could softly be heard. Are you trying to say that was all in vain?"
  The girl gave an insolent laugh. "Of course it was all in vain, you fool. You purged geometry of polar animals!"
• 
  Žaneta Csonka

  Na tohle dílko jsem se chystala už dlouho, ale pořád jsem ho odkládala, protože jsem si chtěla nejdřív pořídit (těžko sehnatelnou) fyzickou knihu. No, osud tomu chtěl jinak a já potřebovala přečíst knihu na seminář, takže mi nezbývalo, než sáhnout po čtečce. Po přečtení tohohle skvostu jsem se teda jen utvrdila v tom, že potřebuju mít tuhle knížku v knihovně. Ajvaz stvořil neskutečně podmanivý příběh plný magického realismu (co si budem, na to já slyším) zasazený do pražských reálií, čímž vytvořil naprosto nový koncept tzv. Prahy magické. Nečekejte legendy o Golemovi a alchymii, čekejte neskutečnou jízdu po okrajových, zapomenutých částech našeho světa. Co se skrývá za knihami v naší knihovně, jaký tajný průchod se nachází za stěnou staré skříně, kdo žije v prázdném kufru a co se v noci vysílá na vypnutých obrazovkách televizorů? Druhé město, které obývá okraje toho našeho, je tak trochu Říše divů, absurdnost, nonsens... anebo je to právě prasmysl všeho, kdo ví...
• 
  Barbora Romanovská

  Michal Ajvaz se mi dostal do rukou záměrně, protože knihy o knihách a jazycích jsou mou vášní. Ajvaz se inspiruje J. L. Borgesem a N. Gaimanem. Do jeho knih se vstupuje zrcadly, knihovnami, luštěním cizích jazyků. A proto jsou jeho světy natolik podmanivé, jsou totiž na dosah našeho světa.
  
  Pod Prahou je jiné město, v sochách Karlova mostu chovají malé soby, za tenkými zdmi kaváren žijí lidé v prapodivných bytech a pod Petřínem je celá katedrála. A občas narazíte i na někoho, kdo o tomto městě ví a kdo listuje stránkami podivně popsaných knih.
  
  Světový magický realismus, to je ještě jiná liga, ale musím říci, že na české poměry jsem spokojená.
• 
  Emily

  #45 - Esquire 50 Best Fantasy Books of All Time
  
  This was incredibly Eastern European and reading it felt a lot like a Dali painting looks.
  
  There were moments when I felt like I could grasp a deeper meaning but mostly this was so surreal that it went over my head.
• 
  Toolshed

  "Už dříve jsem měl často pocit, že půdorys zvyků, krerý vytváří náš svět, je jako ornament mozaikové podlahy v Knóssu, jehož strnulé linie prý zachycují dráhy pohybů rituálních tanečníků, maskovaných postav, které už dávno odešly: máme naději, že tam za hranicí konečně uvidíme prvotní tanec, jehož stopou je náš svět."
  
  Veľmi, veľmi luxusná ukážka českého weirdu. To sa len tak nevidí. A že naozaj s prehľadom dostojí tomuto žánrovému zaradeniu - román je to zvláštny, podivuhodný, čudný. Stavia na duálnej podobe našej reality, na pocite, ktorý je pre weird fiction taký typický: že občas by sa stačilo iba trochu lepšie prizrieť alebo zájsť o krôčik ďalej než obvykle, a už by sme sa ocitli v úplne inom svete, v ktorom neplatia racionálne pravidlá.
  
  Ajvaz na pomerne malom priestore rozprestiera tú najpodivnejšiu tapisériu nepravdepodobných príhod, akú si len viete predstaviť. Jeho rozprávač sa opakovane stretáva s náznakmi, skrytými i očividnými, ktoré poukazujú na to, že čosi nie je tak, ako sa zdá a že realita, ktorej doteraz veril, sa mu drobí pod rukami. Možno jeho rozprávaniu veriť? Ide iba o jednu dlhú sekvenciu halucinogénnych scén? To nie je dôležité, toto je dielo, v ktorom si treba vychutnať pregnantnosť a imaginatívnosť obrazov, obdivovať Ajvazov zmysel pre abstrakné uvažovanie. Je to ako film Davida Lyncha prevedený do románovej podoby; na to, aby ste si ho užili a "pochopili", sa musíte podrobiť snovej logike príbehu.
  
  Nehovorím, že je to čítanie pre každého. Som už na podobné texty pomerne zvyknutý, a predsa sa mi občas toľká záplava zvláštností zdala úmorná a pomyslel som si, že by ju bolo dobre šetrnejšie dávkovať a viac pracovať s náznakmi. Napriek tomu je to však dielo, ktoré upúta každého čitateľa so sklonmi k introspekcii a záľubou v snových výpravách.
• 
  Zach

  This is a mind-blowing book. It works as an abstract meditation on existence, a fabulist fantasy, and in parts almost like an absurd prose poem. The fertile imagination of Ajvaz runs free, but always in service to the bigger themes journeying and homecoming. The translation does a superb job of capturing the flow of the language, with the paragraphs of dialogue, in particular, rolling, accelerating downhill, snowballing in almost stream of consciousness exposition that manages to be poetic at the same time that it describes the impossible "other city." Briefly, right at the end, the narrator tries to make more concrete the themes of the book, and I thought this weakened the previous ambiguity, but the end returns to form, and this section (maybe two pages) can be excused.
• 
  Lukáš Cabala

  Keď bude vonku v noci pršať a na lesknúcu cestu bude svietiť žlté svetlo pouličnej lampy - vezmite si do postele túto knihu. Už dávno som vám ju chcel ukázať (nech ste ktokoľvek). Hlavný hrdina rozpráva príbeh o meste v meste. Praha za akousi oponou vedomia. Mierne temná, no čarovná atmosféra. Podivné sochy znázorňujúce to, čo sa stalo len včera, zúrivé lasičky, spletitá knižnica v ktorej môžte navždy zablúdiť, mramorová nočná električka a soby na Karlovom moste.
  
  Lenže - možno, keď to budete čítať vy, tak to bude obyčajný príbeh o viditeľnej Prahe. Možno sa Druhé město neukáže každému čitateľovi...
• 
  Zygintas

  Pirmas sakinys: Antikvariate Karolio gatvėje vaikščiojau palei knygų nugarėlių eiles, kartkartėmis dirstelėdamas laukan pro stiklinę vitriną: ėmė tirštai snigti, su knyga rankoje stebėjau pro stiklą, kaip priešais Išganytojo bažnyčią šėlsta sniego sūkuriai, vėl grįžau prie knygos, užuodžiau jos kvapą, leidau žvilgsniui klajoti po puslapius, tai šen, tai ten perskaičiau sakinio nuotrupą, kuri paslaptingai, skaisčiai sušvito, išplėšta iš visumos.
  
  Pirma, tai nėra knyga apie Prahą. Nei tikrą, nei paralelinę. Myliu Čekijos sostinę, šiek tiek ją pažįstu, tačiau romanas dėl to nė kiek netapo įdomesnis.
  
  Antra, tai nėra nei fantastika, nei magiškas realizmas. Autorius nestabdė įsišėlusios vaizduotės, o gero redaktoriaus nepasitaikė.
  
  Trečia, romanas silpnas tiek veikėjų ("M. Ajvaz‘o personažai yra geriausi tuomet, kai pasakoja istorijas arba jų klausosi. Šiaip jie primena šaltus metalinius automatonus, kurie įsijungia, kai pasakotojas įeina į kambarį, ir vėl išsijungia, kai tik šis išeina. Visi veikėjai kalba vienodu balsu, o jų charakteriai paprastai yra plokštoki ir vienplaniai", Nerijus Cibulskas,
  "370"), tiek idėjų ("Kitas miestas“, regis, paremtas principu „kuo keisčiau, tuo geriau“ ir, nors chaoso ir atotrūkio nuo tvarkos pojūtis visai smagus, ilgainiui jis pabosta, o romano skaitymas tampa kone inertišku užsiėmimu, kurio pagrindinis tikslas – pažiūrėti, kuo gi visa tai baigsis. Beje, būtent paskutinieji romano skyriai kiek įtaigesni – skaitymo patirtis tampa kiek kokybiškesnė bent šiek tiek praretėjus oniriškoms džiunglėms.", Dovilė Kuzminskaitė,
  LRT KLASIKOS laida "Ryto allegro") požiūriu.
  
  Ketvirta, šiame chaotiškame sapne galima ieškoti pasakojimo apie tikrovės, iliuzijų, racionalumo ribas ir daug ko, kas nepadėta, tačiau kad būtų lengviau apsispręsti, kas tai – fantasmagorija ar kliedesys – įdedu vieną ištrauką:
  "Bijau; paskelbtas sniego griūties pavojus, vis negaliu pamiršti, kaip mano bendramokslę užvertė sniego griūtis ir kaip ji kelias valandas gulėjo tamsoje po patalais, kol ją suuodė gelbėtojų šiuo. Per tą laiką ji sukūrė eilėraštį apie praregėjusiojo smegenyse žibančius auksinius motociklus ir apie tai, kodėl pralaimėjusieji turi atjausti nugalėtojus. Šio eilėraščio žodžiai apie avis, atkakliai nešančias iš kažkur dantyse ilgus, storus kabelius į viešbučio "Europa" kavinę, pilną klientų, kuriuos liūdina avių elgesys, įkvėpė didelę freską, priešais kurią mano svainį, grįžtantį iš filosofų kongreso, kuriame skaitė pranešimą apie tai, kad svarbiausią metafizikos problemą dera spręsti javainių su riešutais dvasia, užpuolė žuvų pardavėjos, mušė kumščiais jam per veidą ir šaukė: "Gerai paslėptas autostradų tinklas yra toks pat taurus, kaip ir žvėris, kurį visi medžioja pianino sonatose, padaryk mums naują Snieguolę, mulki!" Tačiau net vėliau svainis neįstengė atsakyti į klausimą, ką jis vadina svarbiausia metafizikos problema." (117 p.)
  
  Pabaigai: pagarba vertėjo Vyto Dekšnio darbui – knyga "pasižymi komplikuota sintakse, kur į vieną sakinį vejasi kliedesius dažnai primenančios veikėjų kalbos, o įvykių ir vietų aprašymai neatspindi mums įprasto pasaulio. Todėl reikėtų sveikinti vertėją V. Dekšnį, kuriam pavyko kiek įmanoma lengviau ir laisviau perteikti įvairių dekoratyvių detalių prikimštą pasakojimą." (Dovilė Kuzminskaitė,
  LRT KLASIKOS laida "Ryto allegro").
• 
  Lyubina Litsova

  „Другият град“ е друга книга. Такава, каквато едва ли може да напомни за нещо друго. Тя е уникална по своя изказ и набор от думи.
  
  „Другият град“ е друго пространство, друга вселена, която е колкото близка, толкова и далечна от реалността. Тук границите се счупват, за да изтече между тях всяка възможност за връщане към статичното, познатото, тривиалното, скучното, възможното, обикновеното...
  
  Безграничното въображение на Михал Айваз нанизва думи и изгражда свят на невъзможен град. Да си представиш, да създадеш и да отидеш отвъд – това е смисълът. Да излезеш извън пределите на това, което срещаш всеки ден и го приемаш за даденост, да се запиташ дали може да бъде различно...
  
  Да искаш да отидеш отвъд бариерите на приетото, на навика, на установеното, на узаконеното.
  
  Приемането като финал... Край на старото; начало на ново, течащо, горящо, невъзможно, но осъществимо, ако го прибереш в копнежа на сърцето си. Само тогава можеш да станеш жител на Другия град – но дали той ще е центърът или не, няма значен��е, защото пътят никога не свършва. Зад всеки град се крие нов, за да превърне всичко останало в периферия. Като живота, който е неспирен поток на възобновяващо се дихание...
  
  „Пред мен се разтвори гледка, от която цял живот искат да ни предпазват, отричат ни правото на загуба и правото на изгнание, правото да се загубим и да се лутаме покрай стената, да бъдем изгнаници в света на кътчетата, в тъмните дворове на битието. Колко са досадни, все искат да ни внушат натрапчиво спасение и родина, искат да ни отнемат сияещата страна на чужбината, където от освободените неща струи великолепна студена светлина, от радостите на самотата в нощните равнини над искрящите градове, от красивите бавни танци на чудовищата по изоставено шосе, от омайното чезнене в дълбината на тъмните стаи, под студените огледала, където трептят светлините на далечни лампи като болезнени съзвездия от лентата на зодиака, който се гъне през вътрешността на сградите.“ – Из „Другият град“ – Михал Айваз
• 
  Ondřej Puczok

  Surrealistická báseň zabalená do formy novely. Spousta zajímavých nápadů, které by samy o sobě mohly být nosnými tématy povídek, ale zatlačené do pozadí tunami slovní vaty. Jednotlivé snové epizody objevující Druhé město schované za "kulisami" Prahy i jen tak se ukazující nejen v jejích ulicích, dohromady však pospojované jen náhodně, neuvěřitelně a někdy i na sílu. Krásně podivné a hravé vnitřní odkazy na děj jiných stránek i dospělé filozofování. Na druhou stranu až dětská hra s fantazií, ne/asociacemi a náhodným spojováním nespojitelného v rámci dlouhých nesmyslných odstavců (na mě trochu moc, i přesto, že jde o dílo knižního surrealismu). A krásné, i když bohužel jen černobílé, ilustrace Pavla Čecha.
  
  Je to tak strašně zajímavé, některé z vytvořených knižních obrazů za čtení opravdu stály, jako celek je ale Druhé město strašlivě nevyrovnané a pro mě míjející se účinkem – jako příběh to zkrátka nefunguje. Spíše jde o hodně podivnou řadu prosněných nocí, sepsané povídání ze spaní nebo do slov převedené tahy štětce bláznivého malíře...
• 
  Lais

  Eu daria uns 3,5. De forma geral é um livro falando sobre a cidade de Praga, criando uma cidade paralela a ela onde ocorrem coisas inesperadas e momentos mágicos. Tem um estilo meio surrealista de acontecimentos, como livrarias virando selvas, mini estabulos dentro de estatuas, luta com tubarão e afins. É legal pra se conhecer, mas grande parte do que foi falado eu não devo ter entendido pois precisava de mais referências.
• 
  Vadimas Bašlaminovas

  Hallucinogenic bomb! 🤯💣🦈
• 
  Sini

  Vorig jaar amuseerde ik mij prima met "The golden age" van Michal Ajvaz, een ongelofelijk fantasierijk boek in de geest van mijn helden Calvino en Borges. En met het onlangs vertaalde "De andere stad" amuseerde ik mij zelfs nog wat beter. Zou dat komen door de soepel lezende vertaling van Tieske Slim? Zou het komen doordat een Nederlandse vertaling voor mij sowieso makkelijker leest dan een Engelse? Of zou het komen door Ajvaz' volkomen idiote en surrealistische fantasie, die in dit boek zelfs nog ongeremder is dan in "The golden age"? Hoe dan ook: het is een boek vol aanstekelijke verbeeldingskracht, dat goed is vertaald en mooi is uitgegeven, en ook de fraaie illustraties maken mij vrolijk.
  
  Het boek start, in Borges- achtige sfeer, met een ik- figuur die in een antiquariaat een boek aantreft dat geschreven is in volkomen onbekende, mogelijk magische schrifttekens. Een boek dus dat andere onbekende werelden belooft en zelfs uit andere onbekende werelden afkomstig lijkt te zijn. Dat boek, en de fascinatie die het door zijn vreemde schrift oproept, opent voor de ik- figuur totaal nieuwe ervaringswerelden, die als het ware openingen zijn naar een totaal andere stad die dwars door zijn thuisstad Praag heen loopt. Alsof alles in het dichtgesneeuwde Praag op magische wijze van gedaante verandert, alsof Praag ineens vol is van magische binnenruimtes en fabuleuze tussenwezens die je zelfs in de meest bizarre dromen nauwelijks ziet. Het vertrouwde perspectief op de wereld van de ik- figuur is dus volkomen open gebroken, zodat hij ruimtes en wezens ziet die binnen zijn vroegere vertrouwde perspectief of referentiekader eigenlijk helemaal niet kunnen bestaan. Daardoor is "de andere stad" behoorlijk angstwekkend en verontrustend, omdat hij zo onherkenbaar is en zo monstrueus ongerijmd. Maar ook fascinerend, verlokkend, tantaliserend, juist omdat alle taferelen in "de andere stad" zo onmogelijk bizar zijn en zo surrealistisch vreemd.... Want de bibliotheek verandert in een bizarre jungle, doorsnee- personen veranderen in mysterieuze nachtfiguren, een "rituele reciteervogel" declameert even prachtige als ondoorgrondelijke teksten over mysterieuze mythen, de ik- figuur wint een lang gevecht met een haai midden in het besneeuwde Praag..... En zo voort, en zo verder.
  
  Die zo vreemde ervaringen, en het verlangen ernaar, krijgen in "De andere stad" extra contour dankzij enkele fraaie taalfilosofische passages. Daarin wordt scherpzinnig betoogd dat taal weliswaar orde schept, maar ook onze blik op de binnen- en buitenwereld sterk inperkt. Al was het maar omdat elk referentiekader de ervaring inkadert en dus begrenst, en omdat elk perspectief sommige zaken scherp stelt maar andere juist helemaal niet. En dat besef voedt het verlangen om toch glimpen op te vangen van de voor ons onbegrijpelijke werelden voorbij de grenzen van onze taal. Te meer omdat elke taal - elk perspectief, elk referentiekader- arbitrair is: er zijn in principe heel andere perspectieven op de wereld denkbaar dan de onze, die ons de wereld totaal anders zouden laten zien. We zouden een gans andere wereld kunnen zien en ervaren, alleen al door volkomen anders - met andere referentiekaders en taalspelen- naar onze wereld te kijken. Dan zouden we dingen zien die nu onzichtbaar zijn en onbekend, en de ons vertrouwde dingen zouden een totaal andere - en bovendien steeds veranderende- gedaante aannemen.
  
  Aldus, heel versimpeld samengevat, redeneren diverse personages in "De andere stad". Inclusief de ik- figuur. Ik ben fan van Borges en de Franse taalfilosoof Derrida, twee gekende inspiratiebronnen van Ajvaz die ik in "De andere stad" duidelijk herken, Dus boeiden deze taalfilosofische passages mij, te meer omdat ze met passie, brille en schwung zijn opgeschreven. Bovendien, dat verlangen naar een "andere stad" in de bekende stad is ook begrijpelijk zonder aan Borges of Derrida te denken. Ajvaz zelf zegt in interviews dat dit boek ontstond uit het zeldzame en vreemde beeld van een volkomen ondergesneeuwd Praag, dat er anders uitzag dan ooit, en hem dus deed dromen van een ander Praag verborgen in het hem bekende Praag. En dat wil wat zeggen, want ook in normale gedaante is Praag natuurlijk een stad die een mens stevig doet dromen..... Ook moest Ajvaz, naar eigen zeggen, denken aan de tijden vlak na de Praagse lente, tijden waarin er veel te weinig boeken waren en dus veel te weinig mogelijkheden om te verdwijnen in werkelijkheden die anders waren dan de zo eendimensionale communistische werkelijkheid.
  
  Kortom, het snakkende verlangen naar gans andere en volkomen vreemde werelden wordt in die taalfilosofische passages mooi voelbaar gemaakt. En dat gebeurt zelfs nog veel sterker in de ongeremd fantasievolle taferelen waar dit boek zo vol van is. Want op elke pagina buitel je van de ene aanstekelijk surrealistische scene in de andere, een heel boek lang. Daar werd ik helemaal hilair van. Te meer omdat elke scene op zich al zo vol is van verbeeldingskracht. Zoals bijvoorbeeld de volgende, die gaat over een groep glazen beelden die zomaar ineens blijken te bestaan in de verborgen zijaltaren van een kathedraal. "De beelden waren hol en gevuld met water, in het water zwommen verschillende zeewezens, sommige fosforesceerden een beetje: hun bleke licht, het enige licht in de ruimte van de kathedraal. werd in rusteloze flonkeringen gereflecteerd op de talloze kronkels van vergulde ornamenten in de stijl van een soort onderaardse barok die over muren en op de brede lijsten van donkere schilderijen meanderden. Mij viel op dat de beelden een volledig chronologische reeks vormden, een feuilleton in glas die in chronologische volgorde scenes uit het leven van een held of een god verbeeldde. Ze stelden een soort wrede gevechten voor, eenzame extase en een smartelijke annunciatie. Ook binnen de beelden heerste onrust en strijd, de zeewezens achtervolgden elkaar en hapten naar elkaar met hun scherpe tanden. Ik zag hoe een opgeschrikte lichtgevende vis zijn toevlucht zocht in de kop van een beeld toen er achter hem plotseling een snel bewegende schaduw opdook; het in een eigenaardige kramp verwrongen glazen gezicht lichtte op dat moment als in een plotselinge mystieke extase op in het duister van de kathedraal, maar direct daarna kreeg het behendige roofdier de vis te pakken en zette het zijn tanden erin, het licht doofde in het zich traag verspreidende donkere bloed dat na een tijdje de hele kop van het beeld vulde".
  
  Fraaie scene, vind ik, vol prikkelende beelden en vol origineel lichtspel. Dat alles krijgt later in het boek een onverwacht vervolg, want dan zijn de beelden op vrij fabuleuze wijze verplaatst, met sleden die voortgeduwd worden door mensen met zwarte maskers, naar de besneeuwde straten van nachtelijk Praag. De ik- figuur ziet nu nieuwe verbazende details: "De beeldengroep stelde een held voor die een jong meisje omhelsde bij een ranke pilaar, waaraan een schildpad was vastgebonden uit wiens schild lange doornen groeiden, op de stekels was het lichaam van een man in kostbaar gewaad gespietst, zijn met edelstenen bezette kroon was van zijn voorhoofd gerold en lag naast de snuit van de onverschillige schildpad op de grond. Het beeld stond op een grote slee, fosforescerende vissen die waren opgeschrikt door het gehobbel, zwommen in verwarring van de ene glazen figuur naar de andere". En ja, daar blijft het niet bij. Want: "Direct na het eerste beeld schoof een volgend beeld voorbij, het stelde een man voor die knielde op één knie, hij keek strak in een enorm, fonkelend kristal. Een derde beeld beeldde een dramatische strijdscene uit: één van de strijders viel op de grond en liet zijn zwaard vallen, de ander haalde uit om hem de laatste slag toe te dienen; hij werd echter gehinderd door een merkwaardige engel met een hondenkop die hals over kop afdaalde en hem nog tijdens de vlucht in zijn arm beet". Deze glazen beelden suggereren dus allerlei vormen van spectaculaire dynamiek. Ze zorgen bovendien voor spectaculair lichtspel, waardoor de zo vertrouwde stad er anders uit gaat zien: "De fosforescerende wezens die in de beelden zwommen, verlichtten de sneeuw met een bleek, onrustig schijnsel, ook op de gevels van de gebouwen flakkerde het licht van de vissen. De donkere toren van het stadhuis rees op boven de kring van glazen beelden met hun spookachtig licht".
  
  Ajvaz verrast ons elke bladzij opnieuw met dit soort uitbundig fantasievolle taferelen, en met volkomen onverwachte verhaalwendingen. Dat doet hij een heel boek lang, en ik verveelde mij daarbij geen moment. Dat geldt niet voor alle lezers: in recensies van de Engelse vertaling zag ik bijvoorbeeld soms de kritiek dat het boek uiteindelijk geen doel of boodschap lijkt te hebben, omdat het alleen maar uit surrealistische en ongerijmde fantasieën bestaat. En dat zou volgens deze recensenten te gratuit zijn, te dunnetjes, te oppervlakkig. Maar de ik- figuur zelf zegt: "Nu wist ik dat alleen hij de andere stad kan binnengaan die vertrekt in de wetenschap dat de reis die hij aanvaardt, geen enkel doel dient, omdat doel een plaats betekent in het weefwerk van de verbindingen die het thuis creëert". Oftewel: het begrip "doel" hoort bij de kaders van zijn vertrouwde taal en referentiekader, en precies die kaders wil hij nou juist voorbij. Want hij is en blijft op zoek naar "de andere ruimte", die "voor even de sluimerende kracht opwekt die de orde in het geheim bouwt en tot leven wekt: zonder hen die vertrekken zou de orde van het thuis verstarren en afsterven". Kortom: juist door zo ongeremd fantasievol en surrealistisch ongerijmd te zijn, en geen enkel rationeel doel te dienen, ontsnapt het boek aan onze rustgevende, maar ook wat starre alledaagse referentiekaders. Juist door die surrealistische fantasie zo de vrije loop te laten gaat de ik- figuur en ook Ajvaz bovendien zijn eigen verstarring tegen. En ook ik deed dat, door mij een aantal uren vol verbazing onder te dompelen in dit heerlijk vreemde boek.
  
  Ik vind het dus goed nieuws dat Ajvaz nu ook in Nederland is gelanceerd. Hopelijk gaat Tieske Slim nog meer van hem vertalen, en ik ga toch eens kijken welke Engelse vertalingen er nog in omloop zijn.
• 
  Ilaria_ws

  Il confine del nostro mondo è una linea con un solo lato, non c'è e non può esserci una strada che dall'interno conduca all'esterno...
  
  L'altra Praga è un romanzo davvero molto particolare che ci conduce in un viaggio attraverso la meravigliosa città di Praga.
  Il protagonista della storia, di cui non conosceremo mail il nome, trova in una libreria antiquaria uno strano libro dalla copertina viola e scritto in una lingua sconosciuta. Ammaliato da questa scoperta decide di acquistarlo e di farlo visionare ad un esperto. Il ricercatore gli rivela che quello strano volume potrebbe metterlo in contatto con una realtà parallela, un mondo nascosto ai più.
  Pur temendo quello che potrebbe trovare, vinto dalla curiosità il nostro protagonista inizia a seguire piccoli indizi celati tra le strade di Praga che lo porteranno ai confini di una realtà pericolosa quanto affascinante, una realtà che pur trovandosi proprio lì davanti agli occhi di tutti, viene scoperta e intravista solo da pochi...
  Tra pagine ricche di mistero e di indizi ingannatori, Michal Ajvaz conduce il lettore attraverso il dedalo di strade di Praga alla scoperta di un mondo alternativo ricco di fascino!
  Il protagonista della storia si ritrova totalmente invischiato nella ricerca di questa realtà parallela di cui riesce a intravedere i confini, ma in cui sembra difficile penetrare.
  La ricerca degli indizi fatta di inseguimenti, lezioni notturne, parate di enormi statue di ghiaccio trascinate per la città che dorme, porteranno il protagonista a entrare in contatto con strani personaggi e situazioni pericolose.
  Già dalle prime pagine è impossibile non venire risucchiati dal vortice di questa storia, fin da subito l'attenzione del lettore viene catturata dal fascino che avvolge questa storia!
  Lo stile è molto particolare, fatto di lunghe descrizioni, di personaggi, incluso lo stesso protagonista, di cui sappiamo poco e di molte riflessioni interessanti. Nonostante ciò la narrazione non è lenta, le pagine scorrono veloci mentre si va dipanando il mistero legato all'altra Praga, la città che vive all'interno della città.
  E' proprio Praga la protagonista di questo romanzo, lei con i suoi palazzi antichi, le sue strade, i ponti, tutto catturato durante le nevicate invernali, atmosfera che rende il romanzo ancora più affascinante.
  L'elemento fantastico è molto interessante e viene descritto perfettamente in ogni minimo particolare. Mi è piaciuto molto il fatto che reale e fantastico siano ben equilibrati e quasi descritti come se fossero due facce della stessa medaglia. La Praga che fa parte della realtà parallela a quella vissuta dal protagonista, si trova all'interno della città stessa, tra gli angoli bui e i confini che le persone si rifiutano di oltrepassare.
  Molto interessante il percorso intrapreso dal protagonista, uno fra i pochi a percepire questo mondo fatto di magia e strane creature e ad avere il coraggio necessario ad attraversare il confine che segna la fine del mondo per come lo conosciamo e ad entrarvi.
  Un romanzo particolare, diverso dal solito, in cui il mondo fantastico e quello reale si sovrappongono e si confondono, un romanzo che vi porterà a scoprire i segreti di Praga!
• 
  Circus

  I wanted to love this book. I wanted to love it because it has so many of the qualities and tropes that I'm usually a sucker for: contemporary magic realism, urban settings, mysterious books, hidden places layered on top of real ones, an unsettling of the familiar by something uncanny. In reading up on Michal Ajvaz I've come across comparisons to Calvino and Borges, two pillars of my literary imagination. The first chapter was promising, my hopes were high.
  
  But Ajvaz goes too far.
  
  I appreciate surrealism, but it's difficult to fathom any significance from the unending stream of disjointed and random images and dialogue here. And maybe that's the point: maybe the other city, the alternate Prague that Ajvaz imagined, is meant to be meaningless in order to instill a renewed sense of meaning in the more familiar "real" Prague (or whichever city the reader chooses as a parallel). Maybe the rules of the other city aren't meant to be fathomable, maybe it's supposed to be one great big non sequitur after another.
  
  The problem with this is that surreal imagery is most successful when you can glean some kernel of meaning from it. While Ajvaz's repertoire of strange juxtapositions seems endless, it also seems empty -- or at least so opaque as to prohibit the reader from understanding it. And again, while this may be the point of his exercise, it's also maddening. The search for something to hold onto in this book kept me reading, often against my better judgment. Finishing this difficult book took patience and determination -- two qualities I usually have in spades, but which were sorely tested here.
  
  That isn't to say that there's no payoff to those who persevere. After enduring pages of the most brutal stream of consciousness (Faulkner's The Bear is a breeze by comparison), the final two chapters provide some insight into the author's intentions. It's hard to determine whether the payoff is worth it; my gut tells me Ajvaz didn't have to go nearly as far as he did to make his point, didn't have to make the other Prague quite so impenetrable to make it alien.
  
  Yet I'm torn: is it just that I don't understand enough about Czech culture to understand what Ajvaz was writing against, what the book is really about? It's a problem I've had with others, especially Pamuk and Saramago -- but here it's compounded with such dense prose and such a cluttered alternate reality that it's hard to determine where my misunderstanding ends and the book's flaws begin.
  
  It's a memorable book, to be sure, and there are some moments of brilliance that earn it a third star here, but it is a challenging read with an uneven resolution. I recommend it with caution.